I'd rather GUESS that the baby bunks in the cookstove oven than
know it for sartin. How did the grapes I sent you go?" turning to the
sick man.
"Aw, sor! they were foine. God bless you, sor! Mary be kind to you, sor!
Sure the angels'll watch over you every day you live and breathe!"
Captain Elisha bolted for the parlor, the sufferer firing a gatling
fusillade of blessings after him. Mrs. Moriarty continued the
bombardment, as she escorted him to the door of the flat.
"There! there!" protested the captain. "Just belay! cut it short,
there's a good woman! I'll admit I'm a saint and would wear a halo
instead of a hat if 'twa'n't so unfashionable. Good day. If you need
anything you ain't got, tell the nurse."
The grateful Irish woman did not intend to let him escape so easily.
"Aw, sor," she went on, "it's all right for you to make fun. I'm the
jokin' kind, sor, meself. Whin the flats where we used to be got afire
and Pat had to lug me down the fire escape in his arms, they tell me
I was laughin' fit to kill; that is, when I wasn't screechin' for fear
he'd drop me. And him, poor soul, never seein' the joke, but puffin' and
groanin' that his back was in two pieces. Ha, ha! Oh, dear! And him
in two pieces now for sure and all! Aw, sor, it's all right for you to
laugh it off, but what would we do without you? You and Miss Caroline,
God bless her!"
"Caroline? She doesn't come here, does she?"
"Indade she does.
Pages:
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179